7teen
by simplyshelbs16
Summary: a teen!lock Sherlolly songfic based off of Avril Lavigne's 17, in which Sherlock and Molly were high school sweethearts. I do not own the characters, Sir ACD & Moftiss/BBC do.


**Author's Note:** if you want to read this with the lyrics that coincide with each portion, go on my Ao3 (SimplyShelbs16).

* * *

Sherlock had picked up a summer job at a record shop. It was never his first choice of work, as he preferred to solve mysteries. When there was a lack of interesting cases to help the local police force with, he needed something that would pay. His shift had just ended and he was leaning against his car, finishing up a cigarette. Dropping it to the ground and putting it out, he took a sip of his Coca-Cola.

"Guess who?" a sweet feminine voice spoke from behind him, her hands covering his eyes.

"Hmm, let me guess," Sherlock teased. "Could it be none other than Molly Hooper?" He turned to face her.

"Right again," she smiled, standing on her tip toes to kiss him firmly. He tasted like a mix of his previously smoked cigarette and the fizzy beverage he was drinking. She detested the habit but at the same time, the taste was just so him.

* * *

"You are so beautiful," Sherlock whispered in the warm summer night air. Molly had a tote bag with her to throw her clothes into once she took them off. First, they needed to climb over the fence. Sherlock had convinced her to sneak in their neighbor and friend, John Watson's, swimming pool. If John's parents found out, they'd probably be appalled but since they were out of town for the weekend, there weren't as many worries.

Molly tossed her bag over the fence. Sherlock was taller than it but at Molly's mere five foot three, she needed a bit of help. He picked her up by the waist after she slipped off her sandals and threw them over. Sherlock maneuvered to where one hand grasped her waist gently and the other was pushing against her bum to help her over. Once Molly stuck the landing, she moved out of the way as Sherlock backed up to run and jump over the fence. He landed on his feet with a thud.

"Sherlock, you need to be more quiet," Molly giggled. She had already slipped off her t-shirt and jeans, leaving her in her underthings.

"Do I?" he smirked, stepping closer. He pulled his shirt over his head of onyx curls and tossed it to the ground. He leaned down to brush his lips against her neck, giving a small nip. She yelped in surprise then quickly covered her mouth.

"Seriously, Sherlock, what if John hears us?" Molly warned. She was not one to break the rules, but he was rubbing off on her. He rolled his eyes playfully at her as he slipped off his jeans, leaving him in his boxers and they climbed into the pool. They both dunked themselves under the water and Molly pressed a light, closed-mouth kiss to his full lips before they came up for air. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his nose against hers before tickling her sides. Molly burst out laughing, a bit too loudly, alerting John to the racket in his backyard. When he made his way out of the backdoor, he saw Sherlock and Molly in the pool snogging each other senselessly clad only in their underthings.

"Bloody hell," John shouted, causing his friends to jump. Molly leaned her face into Sherlock's bare chest, and for a moment, John swore she was crying. It wasn't long before he realized she was actually laughing so hard, tears were streaming down her face. Sherlock joined in with her, amused by the expression on John's face.

"Thought we'd make good use of your pool," Sherlock casually remarked.

"Alright, get out," John demanded, crossing his arms. "I expected better of you, Molly."

"Can't we stay a little while longer, John? Please?" she asked, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

"Fine," John conceded, "but no shagging or I swear to—"

"You needn't worry, John, that will take place elsewhere," Sherlock grinned.

"Cheeky bugger," Molly playfully scolded him with a light slap to his arm.

"I should take up drinking," John mumbled under his breath as he walked back into his house.

* * *

Molly Hooper, new head pathologist at St. Bart's, was reminiscing about her whirlwind romance with Sherlock Holmes. They were high school sweethearts that broke up over the long distance that came with going to separate universities. She sighed sadly as the memories flooded her mind. Their song had come on the small radio she kept in her office. It was a cheesy eighties ballad by the name of I Want to Know What Love Is.

"Doctor Hooper?" DI Lestrade called out, peering into her office.

"Yes, that's me," Molly smiled, snapping out of her nostalgia. "What can I do for you?"

"We need your expertise in the morgue," he informed her.

"Of course," she agreed, leading the way.

* * *

They were looking at the stars, lying on an old duvet that Molly laid out on the balcony rooftop of her house.

"What do you see?" Molly asked, looking up into the night sky.

"I see the most gorgeous girl I have had the good fortune of loving," Sherlock spoke softly in her ear, his warm breath giving her chills while combined with the cool September air. She turned to look at him, her eyes all aglow. The desire of needing to come together as one overcame them, tension lingering between them.

"It's a bit chilly innit?" she asked. Sherlock said nothing but kissed her passionately.

"I'll keep you warm," he whispered against her lips. Molly melted into him and lost herself in his arms for the night.

* * *

Molly tried to keep the memories at bay but no such luck. She and Lestrade stopped outside of the doors of the morgue.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked.

"Eh, no. He doesn't like more than the necessary amount of people being around him," the detective inspector told her.

"Who is he?" she inquired.

"He's a consulting detective; the only one in existence. I know it's a silly title, right?" Lestrade laughed but Molly allowed a gasp to slip from her lips, rushing into the morgue. Greg Lestrade just stood there, his brows furrowed at her outburst.

There he was, studying the cadaver before him. He had the same dark curls and oceanic eyes that Molly had drowned in so many times.

"Ah, finally, let's hope you're comp—" the words died on Sherlock's lips as he looked up at a ghost from his past. The girl he had fallen in love with all those years ago and never stopped loving stood before him just as beautiful as the day they met. "Molly."

"Sherlock," she replied, allowing his name to be voiced for the first time in years. Molly assumed it would feel foreign to say it out loud again, but it felt like home, as if no time had passed at all.

* * *

John Watson walked into 221B, the flat he shared with Sherlock. His best friend's clothes were strewn across the flat.

"Can't bloody pick up his own laundry," John complained as he gathered each item in his arms. He tossed open the door to Sherlock's bedroom, ready to toss them inside when he found Sherlock snogging none other than Molly Hooper against the wall. His jaw dropped so far, he could've sworn it hit the floor.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. "It's like we're all seventeen again!"

"Um, hey, John," Molly blushed, stifling a laugh.

"John," Sherlock said with irritation.

"Yes?" he answered.

"A bit not good," Sherlock remarked. John got the hint and backed out of the bedroom, deciding to go out for an ice lolly or something; anything.

"Now where were we?" Molly flirted before Sherlock continued to snog her senselessly.

"I love you."

"I missed you."


End file.
